


When I See You Again

by JustAGirl24



Series: Art Therapy [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Caught in the Act, F/M, Happy Ending, Making Out, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6183526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAGirl24/pseuds/JustAGirl24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Tyrion clears his throat and fixes Jaime with a hard stare. “You’ve prepped this. You’ve laid the groundwork. Evenfall can become a viable, profit-making business, and with investors, they can double their intake. Father’s been receptive, surprisingly so. I’ve worked on Varys and other members of the board. This is a formality, so long as it stays about </i>business.”<i> The rest of the sentence is unspoken: </i>and not about her.</p><p>Jaime makes some plans. Sam can't help but be in the wrong place at the wrong time. </p><p>The happy ending I promised. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I See You Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikkiM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/gifts).



> Jaime rolls over, spooning up against Brienne’s bare back. He wraps his arm around her waist, sliding his hand up to cover one breast. It’s soft and warm and fills his palm. He brushes his lips against the nape of her neck as she makes a small sleepy noise of contentment. He is just drifting back to sleep when the alarm clock beeps. He grumbles irritably, letting go of the warm weight of her to swat at the alarm. He makes contact with the snooze button, but the noise won’t stop. He hits it again, and a third time, but still can’t get it to stop. He rips the cord from the wall, but the noise continues. He stares at the alarm clock, bewildered, as it continues to beep over and over.

He wakes then with a start, his alarm clock beeping on the nightstand. The remnants of his dream, Brienne’s body warm against his, slip away like sand through his fingers. His bed is cold and empty, as it has been since his return to King’s Landing three months ago. He wants to roll over, pull the covers over his head, and return to his dream, to Brienne.

Jaime remembers then, suddenly, why his alarm was set—he has a meeting this morning with the Lannister, Inc. board of directors. He goes to the bathroom and looks in the mirror, pulling out the electric shaver his brother had sent him so many months ago when he was still on Tarth. He pushes the thought away roughly. He can think about Tarth, _Brienne,_ later. Right now, he has to focus.

Since returning to the offices of Lannister, Inc. over a month ago, he has a new morning routine: a shave, then a bit of product in his hair; tailored suits with special fasteners that can be managed with one hand; shiny Oxfords, laces in the zigzag pattern he can tie on his own; and a tie stuffed in his pocket, which Tyrion helps him with on the drive to the office.

He rides the elevator down to the lobby, nodding to the doorman on his way out to the shiny black town car waiting for him. Pod knows not to open the door for him, that Jaime would prefer to do it himself. He slides into the backseat, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Good morning, dear brother,” Tyrion drawls, sitting in the seat opposite, his palm extended for Jaime’s tie.

Jaime puts the strip of red-and-gold silk in his brother’s hand, leaning over to give Tyrion better access. He tamps down his aggravation that he cannot tie a tie, that he is forced to have his little brother do this for him. Learning a certain degree of humility has been, without a doubt, one of the biggest difficulties of this whole ordeal.

Tyrion adjusts Jaime’s tie, patting the knot when he’s done. “Nervous?” he asks, a grin on his face and a gleam in his eye.

Jaime smirks, pretending a confidence he doesn’t feel. “Not at all,” he replies glibly.

Tyrion laughs. “Liar,” he says with all the surety of someone who knows his brother too well. Tyrion’s face straightens then, becoming serious. “Father is Father. He’s never going to be anyone else. Gods know, no matter how much we might wish it.” He mutters the last part, then clears his throat and fixes Jaime with a hard stare. “You’ve prepped this. You’ve laid the groundwork. Evenfall can become a viable, profit-making business, and with investors, they can double their intake. Father’s been receptive, surprisingly so. I’ve worked on Varys and other members of the board. This is a formality, so long as it stays about _business.”_ The rest of the sentence is unspoken: _and not about her._

Tyrion smiles then, and Jaime can see the mischievous boy he used to be.

Jaime nods, then hesitates. “Thank you,” he says, voice a little raspy, “for this. And for everything else.” He wishes he could say more, tell Tyrion how he literally saved Jaime’s life, but Tyrion already looks uncomfortable. After all, they are not men who voice emotion. That is not the Lannister way. His little brother gives a short nod, and they finish the ride in silence.

* * *

 

In the end, Tyrion is right. Jaime slides into the role of confident leader, based on the privilege he was born into and honed by his years in His Majesty’s Kingsguard, with ease. He is more prepared for this than he has been for anything else in his life. The board votes in favor of the investment proposal drawn up by Jaime and Elder Brother, twelve _ayes_ and not a single _nay._

The other board members file out of the executive meeting room, and Jaime lowers himself into one of the leather chairs near his father. They sit in silence until the room is empty, Tywin moving a folder in front of Jaime.

“I trust you’ll get the signatures from Evenfall, Jaime?” It is more a statement than a question. Tywin is severe as ever as he looks over his oldest son, his eyes flicking away when he reaches the empty space where Jaime’s hand used to be, the corners of his mouth tightening in barely concealed revulsion.

Tywin had wanted him to get a prosthesis, _for appearances, if nothing else,_ but Jaime had refused. He’s kept up with physical and occupational therapy, and has fumbled his way to a degree of sufficiency. Right now, learning to use a prosthesis is more hassle than he wants. Remarkably, Tywin had let the matter drop. Jaime suspects it has to do with his current involvement in the family business, something Tywin has alternately demanded and attempted to bribe him into doing for decades, and failed until quite recently.

“Yes,” he replies, ignoring his father’s look. “I’ll be staying to oversee operations during the transition period, as well.”

Tywin sits back in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he fixes Jaime with a hard stare. Jaime can’t help but feel transparent beneath it. He is closer to forty than not, and it still seems as though his father knows everything. But finally, Tywin gives a slow nod, gesturing to the door without another word.

Jaime nods back and leaves the boardroom, the folder tucked tightly under his arm.

Tyrion is waiting for him, a smug look on his face, a wheeled suitcase by his feet. He hands Jaime a plain white envelope. “Tickets in the envelope. Clothes for a few days. Pod is waiting with the car to take you to the airport.”

Jaime can’t help but stare at him dumbly for a few moments. “I have a flight booked for the end of the week,” he says, though he longs to be on his way. “There’s loose ends I should stay and wrap up.”

Tyrion laughs, only slightly mocking. “So I can stare at your lovesick face for a few more days? Brother, _go.”_ He smacks Jaime's thigh. “She’s waiting for you, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, and he _doesn’t_. Their time together had been brief, but for Jaime, it has been all-consuming. He can only hope that Brienne feels the same, that she has thought of him, waited for him, dreamed of him, too. Because of Hoat’s allegations, at the advice of the Lannister Inc. legal team and the request of the attorney for Evenfall, he has been mostly silent. The extent of their communication has been an overnight Raven he’d sent days after his return to King’s Landing, simply saying _I miss you. Trust me._ Much as he expected, he’d received no reply. It has only been within the past weeks, with signatures on a confidentiality agreement and a rather large check exchanging hands, that Hoat has no longer been a concern. And now, Jaime has no idea what to say.

“Oh gods,” Tyrion groans. “I’ve said it before—your stupidly handsome face is wasted on you. You are an absolute idiot when it comes to the fairer sex.” Tyrion makes a motion with his hands. “Move along. Your plane leaves in less than an hour.”

Jaime has told Tyrion more about Brienne than he has anyone else, but still very little. Still, his brother has seen just how much Brienne means to him. He bends down to hug his brother, grabs the suitcase, and makes his way down to the lobby to find Pod.

* * *

 

Jaime stands on the top deck of the ferry, watching the isle turn from a dark smudge into a verdant green. He loosens his tie and stuffs it in his jacket pocket, taking in deep lungfuls of the salty ocean air. His heart is pounding, adrenaline racing. He has longed to be back here, to be on Tarth once more, to be with _Brienne_ once more. Everything in Jaime had railed and raged to be kept away, unable to contact Brienne, to see her warm blue eyes, to hold her against him.

It seems an eternity before the ferry is docking on Tarth, and he is exiting with the rest of the passengers in a bustle of activity and noise, pulling his wheeled suitcase along behind him.

He is expecting to walk to Evenfall—after all, he wasn’t planning on arriving here today, and it’s not far—so he is surprised when Elder Brother materializes from the crowd. The older man smiles and shakes his large, square head. “Your brother called,” he says by way of explanation. Elder Brother takes Jaime’s suitcase with his right hand and extends his left for a handshake, then leads Jaime over to a battered conversion van, _Evenfall_ emblazoned on the sliding door.

“You’re hand-delivering the contract?” Elder Brother asks as he turns the key in the ignition, mild as Jaime has remembered. Jaime nods in agreement. “I hope you’re planning on staying a while. Things on Tarth have been…exciting.” The older man chuckles and shakes his head before checking his mirrors and pulling out of the parking lot.

“Are you saying you missed me?” Jaime asked, unable to keep from teasing the therapist.

Elder Brother grins. “Not as much as some,” he says, rather pointedly.

Jaime can’t even pretend nonchalance anymore, Elder Brother’s words bringing with them an almost staggering relief.

“You might be interested to know that Sam is still unable to enter Brienne’s office,” the older man continues dryly, and it startles a laugh out of Jaime, even as his cock stirs at the memory. He has missed Elder Brother’s sense of humor.

The van comes to a stop in front of the doors, and Elder Brother makes a shooing motion with his hand. “I’ll take care of your bag. I think you can still make it to your favorite class.” Before Jaime can think of a response, Elder Brother has driven off.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door, his feet taking him through the cool stone halls, all the way to the sunlit terrace.

Brienne sits at the small table she uses for a desk, shoulders hunched and head bent over as she writes in her ever-present journal. Jaime drinks her in, the solid presence of her, the way her hair is gently blown about by the breeze.

“Am I here in time for fingerpainting?” he asks, trying for light and easy, but feeling his heart in his throat.

Brienne’s head shoots up, her eyes huge and an even more astonishing shade than he had remembered. Her jaw drops, showing a mouthful of white, horsey teeth. Brienne will never be pretty, but there is something so intensely lovely about her in this moment. The subtle agitation he’s felt since leaving Tarth finally eases, and an unsurprising truth surfaces, one he’s finally able to embrace.

_I love her._

And he _does._ Completely.

Brienne seems frozen in place, pen dangling from her fingers, staring at him as though he is a ghost.

He can’t wait another moment to feel her in his arms again. Jaime strides across the terrace, and she stands as he gets close.

His arms are around her, and she is solid, warm, _real—_ better than his dreams, better than his memories. He buries his face in her neck and breathes her in, before blindly searching for her mouth with his.

Her lips are just as he remembered, soft, plush, slightly chapped. Her body is warm against his, and his cock has missed her just as much as the rest of him—he is hard, pressed against her thigh, and he _wants._

“Missed you,” he mumbles, his lips brushing against hers as he speaks.

 _“Yes,”_ she gasps, her hands running over his back.

“Love you, so godsdamned much,” he mutters, moving to kiss her again, but she stops him with a hand to his chest.

 _“What?”_ She is scowling, her eyes fiercely blue, never leaving his gaze.

Jaime heaves a sigh. “I love you, wench,” he says again, impatience lacing his every word, and she draws in a sharp breath. He sees the hesitation in her eyes, and runs a finger over her jaw, speaking softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispers.

He grins, just a touch smug. “Care to show me how much?” he asks, raising one eyebrow and leering suggestively.

Brienne’s face is bright red in an instant, her eyes darting around the terrace. “That depends on how quickly you’re planning on leaving again,” she mumbles, and he can’t help but chuckle, burying his face in her neck once more. He inhales the familiar scent of her shampoo. Her long fingers sift through the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging experimentally, as though familiarizing herself with the shorter strands.

“I’ll only leave if you’re with me,” he murmurs, before placing a kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Her breath hitches, and Jaime claims her mouth once more, his cock becoming even more insistent. He longs to feel her, her bare skin pressed to his, but he can’t pull away from her long enough to form the words. He backs her up until she’s sitting on the edge of her desk— _there, yes, desks were good, very good—_ her magnificently long legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him close so that he is grinding against her center.

“Brienne,” Jaime hears faintly, “I just heard that the new investor is— _oh seven bloody hells!”_ The last part is said in a near-shout, and he jerks away from Brienne to see Sam standing in the doorway leading to the terrace.

Between Sam and Brienne, Jaime can’t tell whose face is a more brilliant shade of red. He grins smugly at the doctor, waving at Sam with his handless arm.

“You can’t be angry,” Jaime says, almost gleeful. “I’m the investor.” Brienne gasps behind him as he tugs her towards the door, and Sam gapes, moving to the side as Jaime gets closer. “Tell the residents that class is canceled for the day? The art therapy teacher is giving a private lesson,” Jaime throws over his shoulder as he and Brienne step into the corridor. He doesn’t wait for Sam’s response, simply continues tugging her towards the residential faculty wing.

Eventually, Brienne pulls her hand free. “Jaime,” she says, a little out of breath, “why is your company investing?”

 _“Not_ my company,” he says quickly. “My father’s company.” Jaime pauses, gathering his thoughts. “Evenfall is doing good work,” he says at last. “There are even more people who could benefit, if you had room for more than just the wealthiest families in Westeros.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Brienne nods, enthusiasm and sincerity in equal measure. She smiles warmly and continues on to her quarters.

Jaime trails behind, heart about to burst in his chest, until they reach a nondescript door. Brienne fumbles with her keys as he watches. His thoughts turn to the events that have brought him to this moment, and everything he has lost—Cersei, and his hand, and, for a long while, his sanity and peace of mind. But with everything he has lost, he has gained so much more, not least of which is the love of this remarkable woman.

“Are you coming in?” she asks as the door finally opens, smiling almost bashfully.

“Of course,” he says with an answering smile, following her over the threshold. “I’m finally home.”

**Author's Note:**

> That's all she wrote, folks.
> 
> Thanks so much--I can't say it enough, I really can't--for reading this series, and especially for your kudos and reviews. They were a great encouragement the (many, many) times I was convinced it was a piece of shite. Ultimately, I hope you've enjoyed reading this, even though it's not my standard fare.
> 
> ikkiM is the best beta and friend I could ask for. Your prompt was the catalyst for this undertaking, and I believe I said something at the beginning about you being the alpha and omega? It seems fitting that the ending should be gifted to you as well. Thank you for listening to me whine (and wine), for being nice when I needed it, and kicking my ass when I needed that, too. :D 
> 
> And once more, I would love to hear your thoughts, either good or bad or neutral, and welcome any insight or suggestions you might have.


End file.
